The day had passed quickly. He worked with Marcus and Maximiliano until it was time to go to the group. Once again, he shared a bit about his problems and listened attentively to his companions. Dominick didn't know how to feel; he thought his own struggles were significant, but hearing the confessions of others made his seem trivial.
He left just in time to reach the hotel and attend his appointment with Jazmín. For him, all the matters they had shared together had been resolved in that park, so he was curious about what she wanted to tell him.
This time, his friends couldn't pick him up because they had a meeting. He returned by taxi, got out when it stopped in front of the hotel, paid, and hurried inside. Entering the restaurant, he scanned the tables for Jazmín, and when he saw her at one of the central tables, he couldn't help but frown.
From where he stood, he could see her melancholic state. She wiped her tears with a handkerchief while clutching a green emerald box tied with a ribbon in her other hand.
Dominick approached slowly, the same feelings of anguish and uncertainty he had felt years ago settling in his chest. He reached the table.
"Sorry for the hour, I had an unexpected delay," he apologized, taking a seat.
"Don't worry, I haven't been here long," she sniffled.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied, though she wasn't telling the truth.
"It doesn't seem like it," he murmured. "Anyway, what do you want to talk to me about?"
Jazmín took a deep breath, her beautiful eyes filling with tears, leaving Dominick even more lost.
"Jazmín, please, I don't understand what's happening, but I'd like you to explain why you're like this. What's going on?"
"When you found out what happened," she began, untying the ribbon, "Christian and I moved in together, but it didn't work out. The guilt ate us both alive, and living together was awful. We hadn't even been together a month before we couldn't continue"—she let the ribbon fall on the table and took a breath.
"I don't see why you think that matters to me," he snapped. He didn't like hearing these things. It was still a delicate subject, and just because he had forgiven her didn't mean he had forgotten.
"Let me finish, I need to do this," she begged. "I had to find a job. I don't know if you know, but after the scandal, my parents stopped talking to me and disinherited me."
"I didn't know. I left for a reason—I didn't want to know anything about you. I fought myself to avoid looking for a single piece of news about your life," he admitted, staring at the table's decorations. "Continue. I won't interrupt you again."
"Thank you," she gave a small, sad smile. "One day, I fainted at work and woke up in the hospital with the news that I would be a mother, and with the uncertainty of who the father was"—Dominick froze in his chair. "I was in a bad place, I didn't know what to do. But the doctor overseeing my pregnancy helped me see that far from being a burden or a punishment, the baby was my salvation, a new chance.
"I had many ups and downs, dark and turbulent moments that made me want to do something foolish. I was close to falling into depression; the baby was underweight, sadness followed me, and guilt never left me. Arturo tried every possible way to help me"—she smiled, remembering how wonderful her husband was, so good she sometimes thought she didn't deserve him—"Though it was risky, at eight months, I had a paternity test done for the baby and Christian."
Dominick's heart started racing, pounding in his chest. Something inside him already knew what she was going to say, but even so, he didn't want to hear it, refusing to accept it.
"Dominick, the test came back negative. Something inside me already knew the baby was yours, but the test confirmed it"—Dom stopped breathing at that moment. She removed the box's lid and began taking out photographs. "The baby was born with some complications but survived. The first three months were crucial"—she swallowed hard, a lump in her throat stopping her from speaking. "Clariza was a beautiful baby; she filled me with life. Arturo, my doctor, offered to take care of both of us. He had already grown fond of her, and I agreed…"
She handed him the photos. Dominick looked at the portraits in disbelief, unable to process the information. One word kept repeating in his mind.
"Jazmín," he said, feeling a tightness in his chest. "Was? How was? Where is she?"
Jazmín wiped her tears, though it was in vain—her cheeks remained soaked.
"When my baby was nine months old"—she sobbed, pulling out some tiny hand-knitted green booties—"she died."
The news hit him like a blow. He didn't know how to react to the fact that he had had a daughter, and now had to face the truth that she had died. So many conflicting feelings surged within him, memories of times he wished he had a child with Jazmín resurfacing, the plans, everything… It was like a bucket of cold water.
Jazmín handed him the box, and Dominick saw some of his daughter's belongings, an ultrasound, a photo in the hospital with a doctor.
"Arturo loved photographing her," she laughed softly. "He bought her many things, but those in the box have a lot of sentimental value to me."
"Christian… he knew?" Dominick looked at a photo in the hospital, where Christian was smiling while holding the baby.
"He helped me try to find you. You had the right to know Clariza was your daughter. I promise, I never intended to hide it from you, but we couldn't locate you, and Christian had many issues, so he gave up"—she looked at one of her daughter's photos, unable to comprehend how such a small being, who harmed no one, could be gone…
"How did she die?" he asked, half absent.
"The doctors determined it was SIDS"—she sniffled. "It was a hard blow, accepting that my baby was no longer here…"
"My God…"—he buried his face in his hands, elbows on the table. "I don't know… what to say. I never imagined this could happen. I had a daughter and couldn't meet her, hold her."
"I brought the box so you could have something of hers. After all, if I hadn't been unfaithful, and the baby hadn't been taken from us, I'm sure you would have been a magnificent father"—she extended the lid and the ribbon.
"Thank you…" he whispered.
"I have to go," she stood. "Iveth will be out of preschool soon. It was nice seeing you, Dominick. I hope you find the happiness I couldn't give you."
"Goodbye," he said, watching her leave.
It seemed this chapter with her had closed. He imagined everything except that confession: he had been a father… For a few minutes, he stared into nothingness, replaying the conversation in his mind over and over.
The waiter, informed not to disturb them, approached when Dominick was alone.
He stood, took the box, and left, leaving the waiter confused.
He rode the elevator in silence, carrying the box, fully aware of its contents. He went straight to Maximiliano's office, entered, and found no one there, but sat to wait. He placed the box on the desk.
His gaze drifted to the small shelf a few meters away. He felt an overwhelming urge to drink. He walked slowly, poured a drink—he needed it, craved it, his cravings screamed at him… "You live day by day making the difference not to relapse", he recalled Ms. McGregor's words. "One drop of alcohol can undo years of abstinence..."
He muttered under his breath and left the glass on the shelf. He had made a decision and couldn't turn back. Marcus had been very clear.
He went to his friend's desk, got distracted organizing some papers, and opened a drawer to put some things away—but paused when he saw two photographs. He knew he was invading his friend's privacy, but what did it matter? The worst that could happen was a quarrel.
Dominick admired the photos: two women, each stunningly beautiful. The blonde photo had a note on the back: "So you remember me fondly, always yours, Ana". He raised his eyebrows in surprise. The other girl was the redhead, Nóvikov's daughter.
Dominick wondered—standing from the chair—why these two photos were together. He put everything back and sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk. He looked at the box.
He knew he couldn't blame her for not telling him sooner; both their actions had contributed to the outcome.
He spent a long time thinking, sitting in the same position, staring at the same spot. Later, his friends entered, laughing about something.
"You come in like you own the place, Dominick," Maxi accused, circling the desk and taking his chair.
"You okay?" Marcus asked, sitting beside him. "You look… off."
"Define the word okay, please," he leaned back in the chair. "My head's a mess."
"And that?" Maximiliano noticed the box on the desk. "Is it yours, Dominick?"
He nodded.
"I want to snoop," Marcus chuckled.
He stood and opened the box immediately. The smile on his face quickly turned into a frown, piquing Maxi's curiosity.
"What is it? Old porn magazines, condoms—come on, talk, I get impatient fast!" Maxi complained.
"They're…" Marcus pulled out a photo, looking at the beautiful little girl, then at Dominick, then back at the girl, blinking. "Baby things."
"No way, let me see"—Maximiliano also stood while Dom remained silent.
Both rummaged through the items. Maximiliano recognized Jazmín immediately and assumed the child might be Christian's when seeing a photo of him holding her…
"That girl…"
"She's my daughter," Dominick interrupted.
"Your daughter?" Marcus gaped. "How is she your daughter? Is this a joke?"
"Do I look like I'm joking?" he straightened. "I spoke with Jazmín a while ago. She gave me this box and told me she had a daughter I never knew—and now I never will."
"Why?" Maximiliano asked.
"Because she died at nine months old," he replied. "I wish I could have a drink so badly…"
Immediately, Maximiliano's eyes went to the liquor, seeing the glass.
"Dominick, did you drink?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.
"For your sake, I hope not," Marcus crossed his arms.
"I didn't. I was about to… But I promised myself I wouldn't. I won't waste my time attending that place only to ruin all the effort I'm making by drinking a glass of whiskey, no matter how much I want to," he assured them.
"I'm so sorry, Dominick. Even though you didn't meet her, she was your daughter," Marcus placed a hand on his friend's shoulder and squeezed it.
"I don't know how to feel. I didn't meet her. I couldn't love her. I just feel… something strange."
"That's understandable. At least you have these photos. They're not much, but they help you see what she looked like," Maxi tried to console him. "She was a beautiful girl."
Dominick nodded.
The three of them spent hours talking, ordered food, and later went to their rooms. Dominick stored the box in the closet, lay on the bed, and allowed himself to dream of the daughter he never met. He imagined what might have happened if she hadn't died…